Have you ever felt… lost? Like you're wandering through the world and everything seems so familliarly distant. Like your close friends are strangers and sometimes you don't even know who you are?
I get that feeling all the time. It comes from being a hired killer I suppose. Having to throw away your emotions so you can point the barrel of your gun at the whimpering man in front of you. Having to pull the trigger and then walk away. Remorse isn't an option. If you show weakness others will abuse it. Like Rufus Shinra.
Standing on the corner of Sector 5, hands enveloped into a wrinkled blue pocket, cigarette hanging limply off my lips providing no warmth or comfort. I study the people walking by, the hookers winking at me, the pimps glaring, the cowardly drunkards who walk on the other side of the road to stay away. As if their lives were important enough to deign assassination. None of them are my targets this evening.
I'm a hired killer. It's the worst occupation in the world, worse even than a cheap prostitute. They might gain some small satisfaction from their job. I could gain some from mine I suppose, but to do so would be to throw away the last of my humanity. I remain true to the belief that as soon as I begin enjoying my work I will sink to the depths of hell, there would be no going back.
My target stumbles out of a brothel, a goofy grin on his face, pants unzipped and jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders. He looked like a complete ass. He staggers towards an alleyway and I follow. In the dark glow of a lamppost I can see him retching, the result of one too many whisky's.
The dim light reflects off my 45. pistol as I slip it out of my holster, glinting like the eyes of a hungry wolf at the end of a hunt. The target doesn't realise my presence as he leans against the wall, grinning at the memories of his night. Like a shadow I move towards him, swallowing my emotions, about to end yet enother life.
A gunshot echoes through Sector 5. Those foolish enough to still be on the streets pause, wondering briefly at the demise of someone else. Before they shrug and continue on their way albeit a little more hurridly.
I grimace. Blood and brain matter have splattered on my suit. I'll have to get it dry cleaned. Tucking my warm pistol back into the holster I turn and walk away. Another piece of my soul ripping away at the emotions I am forced to close inside. I refuse to acknowledge the guilt and sorrow at what I've become as I leave the alley and walk resolutely back towards my apartment.
Once inside I strip my clothes away, ignoring the blood trapped under my fingernails, the stains on my pale skin. The clothes are disposed onto the bathroom floor as I step under the shower head. My PHS begins ringing. It's Tseng checking I managed it and giving me another assignment. I ignore it. Of course I managed it alright. I'm the most ruthless of the Turks. The heartless Turk that can be your best buddy one second then your worst nightmare the next. I'm the most feared man in Midgar.
The ringing stops. I step out of the shower and run my hand through my hair. My blood red hair. I grab the half empty bottle of Whisky that sits on my bathroom cabinet and take a swig. Another wrinkled blue suit is adorned and my hair is tied back in another band. I go out of the door leaving everything except the whisky. My mission is to go back to the brothel. Only this time I will be a customer, someone will be gaining satisfaction from their job tonight. It's both a bad thing and the best thing in the world I will never gain satisfaction in mine.
Ever felt… lost?
This idea came from a bookmark. My friend Spooky Tonberry (no that isn't her real name. Her real name is Boobigail Spankingham) she made it for me and it showed a lonely Reno looking at the sky with the words "Ever felt…lost" I love that bookmark.